Welcome to the Prospero Keys (or as the locals call them: the Ghost Keys), the beautiful chain of tropical islands on the edge of the Bermuda Triangle where Rain Cacique lives. When Rain's maternal grandfather passed away, he left her his special armband: two gold snakes intertwined, clasping each other's tails in their mouths. Rain soon discovers that the armband is actually a zemi – a very powerful talisman created by the island's native Arawak Taino Indians – and that it allows Rain to see ghosts, including her own grandfather who is determined to help her uncover the Ghost Keys' hidden world of mystery and mysticism, intrigue and adventure. Now, Rain Cacique's looking for a few answers ― and the second zemi, a Taino relic that allows her to see dead people. But it's the first week of school, so she's pretty busy juggling teachers, homework, baby-sitting duties, new friends, missing tourist kids… and a vampire with a tribal twist. Spirits of Ash and Foam is the second installment in Greg Weisman's Rain of the Ghosts series. Gr 4–7—Rain Cacique is on the hunt for a second magical talisman that will increase her powers to converse with the dead, while also juggling the pressures of school and normal life. This second book picks up right where the first one left off; readers would be best served by starting from the beginning of the series. Though some questions from the first installment are answered, plotting and pacing suffer a bit in this sequel. Purchase where circulation of the first book is strong. “From his work on DC's cartoon Young Justice to his first novel, Rain of the Ghosts , he hits it out of the park every time!” ― Danica McKellar, actress and bestselling author of Math Doesn't Suck “The perfect book for the young adult reader.” ― Stan Lee “A thoroughly entertaining joyride.” ― Jonathan Maberry, NYT bestselling author of Rot and Ruin “The heroine is feisty, family-oriented and adventure-prone.” ― RT Book Reviews “ Rain of the Ghosts is truly accessible for all ages...an engaging, intriguing story.” ― IGN.com “Magical realism for all ages!” ― Jonathan Frakes, Actor “A superb builder of new worlds.” ― Nicole Dubuc GREG WEISMAN is an American comic book and animation writer and producer, best known as the creator of Gargoyles and as the Supervising Producer of The Spectacular Spider-Man . Weisman is currently a writer and Executive Producer on the forthcoming Star Wars: Rebels cartoon on Disney XD. He has been nominated for a number of Emmy Awards for his writing for animation. CHAPTER ONE DETRITUS MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8 I must have dozed off. With a start, I woke up beneath a mahogany tree to find the clearing deserted. Only minutes before, or so it seemed, the N.T.Z. had been packed with local teens celebrating the end of summer. Or celebrating despite the end of summer, I suppose. But now there wasn’t a soul in view. Or a ghost, for that matter. I got to my feet and stretched, arching my back and craning my neck. What had been a roaring bonfire was now a cold, wet fire pit, but there was no shortage of light. The nearly perfect circle of an almost full moon illuminated the nearly perfect circle of the clearing. I padded over to the sandstone slab at the edge of the cliff and looked out over the Atlantic. A heavy quilt of mist had descended upon San Próspero below. Competing smells—orchids and bananas and ozone from the storm that had passed through earlier—tickled my nose. Mostly, I was hungry. I scoured the place to see if the kids had left anything behind, but half a corn chip does not a meal make. So I took off, slipping under banana plants and into the dense jungle that surrounds the N.T.Z. Heading down Macocael Mountain, dodging low-hanging vines and leaping over exposed roots, I passed “The Sign.” I glanced back over my shoulder to confirm it hadn’t changed. Because, as Maq is fond of saying, in these parts, you never know. But the incongruous artifact remained a true constant: a stolen PED X-ING sign with two iconic pedestrian-tourists surrounded by a hand-painted red circle with a line through it. Above the figures, the hand-painted, slashing red initials N.T.Z. marked the hidden, semisecret clearing above as a haven for local kids only. No Tourists Allowed in the No Tourist Zone. Near the bottom of Macocael, I passed into the wet blanket of mist and, reaching Camino de Las Casas, paused to violently shake myself and fight off the damp. Then I trotted down the Camino toward Próspero Beach. I knew Maq would be there, and I knew he’d have something for me to eat. I wasn’t wrong. (I rarely am.) Maq had a small driftwood fire going on the sand, which would have been lovely and warm, except he had constructed it ridiculously close to the incoming tide. A baby breaker spilled water into flame, extinguishing about half of the already minute blaze. But Maq didn’t seem to mind. He cheerfully fed more driftwood into what remained of his fire and a nice piece of fresh snapper into